


L'appel du vide

by QQI25



Series: Writing is a Good Coping Mechanism [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QQI25/pseuds/QQI25
Summary: L'appel du vide: having self-destructive thoughts for a split second; literally the call of the void in FrenchPeter had this urge sometimes. To be reckless. To just . . . notliveanymore. He didn’t tell anyone about it, just kept it hidden close to his heart. He felt it suddenly when walking on the streets, having this momentary impulse to throw himself in the middle of traffic, let his body get crushed. He felt it on rooftops, where he allowed himself sometimes toacton it and jump off, catching himself at the last moment. It eased that feeling. Alittlebit. He couldn’t afford to tell anyone. He couldn’t afford to worry anyone, and in that way, he was truly alone. He knew none of them would understandwhyhe did those things. He knew none of them would understand why and how it helped. So he patrolled and went to school and pretended everything was fine and normal and good.Please, please tread carefully if any of the tags are potential triggers! I do not wanna trigger anyone with my coping mechanism.





	L'appel du vide

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys irdgaf if they're ooc bc again, this is super self-indulgent! well, okay, i feel bad, but hey. you gotta cope how you cope. i'm just glad i don't act on any impulses or pull shit like tht. thts not me anymore. i hope it's not u anymore either, or tht if it is u, u know that ur not alone nd hv some othr outlet like writing or drawing or smth like tht.

Peter had this urge sometimes. To be reckless. To just . . . not _live_ anymore. He didn’t tell anyone about it, just kept it hidden close to his heart. He felt it suddenly when walking on the streets, having this momentary impulse to throw himself in the middle of traffic, let his body get crushed. He felt it on rooftops, where he allowed himself sometimes to _act_ on it and jump off, catching himself at the last moment. It eased that feeling. A _little_ bit. He couldn’t afford to tell anyone. He couldn’t afford to worry anyone, and in that way, he was truly alone. He knew none of them would understand _why_ he did those things. He knew none of them would understand why and how it helped. So he patrolled and went to school and pretended everything was fine and normal and good. 

He was on a rooftop one night, standing at the ledge. There weren’t many cars down below. Obviously. It was, what, two a.m. now? Two something? He didn’t tend to keep track of time, staying inside his head and letting the minutes and hours slip by ‘til his Spidey Sense alerted him to danger nearby. It was a quiet night. And then it wasn’t. His Sense tingled and, upon hearing the faint whistle of something whizzing in the wind, he dashed over to the edge of the roof closest to the source of the sound. There was a person plummeting towards the sidewalk, and he frantically shot a web to catch him. He swung down after, making sure neither one of them was going to fall or hit a wall. They landed safely on the ground and Peter let the man cut the web attached to him. The man was clad in a full body costume that was black and red. 

“Why . . . did you do that? I was having fun,” the man said confusedly. 

“I couldn’t let you die,” Peter replied, shaken. 

“Why not? I’d come back anyway, and it quiets the voices.” He tapped his head at the word “voices”. 

“Because . . . because it’s not right,” he said finally. 

“Well clearly you haven’t heard of me then,” the man said amusedly. “Deadpool at your service. Also known as the Merc With A Mouth.” Deadpool bowed exaggeratedly and Peter _almost_ smiled. 

“Spider-Man.” 

“Nice to meetcha. So, do ya . . . _hang_ around here often?” Peter snorted, and Deadpool like pleased with himself. 

“Yes I do, matter of fact. Pretty much every night.” 

“Ooh, this definitely will _not_ be the last time I get to look at dat fiiine ass of yours, then.” There was a shout nearby and Peter went in search of it, but not before throwing a “Bye Deadpool” over his shoulder. 

“Parting is such a sweet sorrow! See ya, Webs!” Deadpool called after him. They hadn’t even known each other for half an hour and he got a nickname. It made him smile. 

———

Peter found himself at the ledge of a rooftop again, staring down at the streets. There weren’t many cars tonight either. He was on a different rooftop, of course; he went where his Spidey Sense and the crimes took him. There wasn’t that telltale sound of something whizzing through the air tonight either. He stepped off backwards, eyes closed, and waited ‘til his Spidey Sense warned him. Then, he shot out a web at the building in front of him at the last minute, swinging down gracefully to the ground. 

“Hey Webs,” a cheerful voice said from somewhere in front of him. He startled, then realised it was only Deadpool. “Whatcha doin’ on this fine night?”

“Patrolling.”

“No, I meant that little stunt you pulled,” Deadpool responded, bringing his finger up to trace a short, invisible line from the rooftop to the ground. 

“I was testing my Spidey Sense,” Peter lied. Deadpool raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re a very bad liar,” Deadpool responded conversationally. “But I’m not gonna bug ya if you don’t wanna talk about it. I get it, Webs. Wanna go back up and hang out on a rooftop?” Peter was relieved that Deadpool wasn’t gonna pry; he didn’t think he was ready to share that information. Even if Deadpool said he understood. 

“Sure. Why not?”

———

“Hey, Spidey. How we feelin’?” Peter didn’t look up from his spot on the floor. He knew it was just Deadpool; no one else hung out up here and no one else checked in on him. Well, not really. He heard Deadpool take a seat beside him. 

“Tired,” he huffed out. “Frustrated. Annoyed. Miserable.”

“Ah,” Deadpool responded understandably. He put his hand on the rooftop between them and Peter reached for it, clasping it. Deadpool kneaded his knuckles in soothing motions almost absently. “It’s good that neither of us are sailing off rooftops, yeah?” He ended up saying gently.

“Yeah.” Peter cracked a smile at that, finally looking up at Deadpool. “Yeah it is.” 

“You’re a good kid, Spidey. I’d hate for anything to happen to ya.” 

“Peter. And ’m not a kid; I’m 17.”

“Peter,” Deadpool said, sounding almost in awe. “Peter. Hi Peter. I’m Wade.” 

“Hi Wade,” Peter said with a soft giggle. 

“It’s a perfect name,” Wade declared. “Also don’t think I forgot you told me your age. You’re still a minor to the state of New York.” Peter groaned. “You can’t even deny it because it’s the truth,” Wade said cheerfully. 

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Peter retorted, no heat behind his words.

“Yes _please_ , Petey Pie!” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Peter said, laughing. 

“Yeah, and you love me.” Peter hummed noncommittally in response. Wade squealed.

———

He stared down at the streets from his position high above on the ledge of a rooftop. It was very high, he noted mildly. 

“Hey Peter Pumpkin,” a cautious voice said behind him. 

“Wade,” he said, sighing. He stepped back down and started walking towards Wade.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Not today.” Instead, he put his arms around Wade’s middle and rested his head on his chest. Wade relaxed quickly and wrapped his own arms around Peter’s shoulders. Peter exhaled. 

———

“I’m starting to think I find you doing this more often than _I_ do it.”

“I think you’re right,” Peter mumbled, voice nearly lost to the wind. 

“Wanna come down here and talk to me about it?” 

“Can we just . . . sit? For now?”

“Whatever you need, Petey. Whatever you need.” He finally stepped down and walked over to where Wade was patting the space next to him. Peter sat down pressed against Wade’s side, drawing his knees up and resting his chin on his knees. Wade draped his arm over Peter’s shoulders. 

“It’s just . . . I don’t . . . think I want . . . to die,” Peter settled on finally. “Life just sometimes . . . gets so . . . hard, and unbearable. And I’d like to rest. Or something. It helps. To . . . do that.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” 

“I don’t have to focus on anything when I do that. I have my Spidey Sense. I can just . . . fall. And it helps me to stop myself from doing something else, like um . . . jumping in. Traffic. Or . . . letting myself get . . . beat up. And stuff like that.” Wade made a soft noise of distress and Peter felt guilty, shrinking into himself a little more. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, Peter. I don’t _ever_ wanna hear you apologising for expressing your feelings. Just, don’t do that other stuff. Don’t pull that shit. It’s ironic for _me_ to be the one saying this, but there’s always other ways out. Other shit you can do. Like the rooftop thing. Or here, I’ll even give you my number. You can call me, and I’ll find you. Wherever you are.” Peter nodded tentatively and unlocked his phone, handing it over. Wade entered his contact in under Wade  <333, and the corner of Peter’s mouth went up. 

“I don’t care what I’m doing; you need to call me, you call me. I’m here for you, Peter. I really am. Even if you feel alone. Even if you feel like no one else is. I can’t really die, remember? So unless you push me away, I’ll always be here for you.” 

“Thanks Wade. Really,” Peter said softly and sincerely. 

“‘S what friends are for, right?”

“Yeah. I hope you realise that means the converse is true; I’m here for you too.” 

“Thanks Pete,” Wade responded appreciatively, if a bit uncomfortable at the thought of sharing his thoughts and feelings. He understood what the sentiment behind it meant; he wasn’t stupid. 

———

“Wade?”

“Hey Petey. What’s up?”

“Me. I’m up. On a rooftop.”

“Oh. How we feelin’?”

“Eh. I’m not on the ledge; I’m laying in the middle. I just. Would prefer your company.” 

“Sure,” Wade said agreeably. He asked for the location and Peter gave him the address. Wade was walking up to him in almost no time. He sat down next to Peter cross legged and patted his lap. Peter adjusted so his head was laying in Wade’s lap. He finally relaxed.


End file.
